


Mercy

by INMH



Series: hc_bingo fanfiction fills 2017 [15]
Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: An alternative ending to the game, because everything hurts and I’m in denial.





	Mercy

Alastair is naked and bloody and defeated.  
  
He doesn’t react to his father handing Grayson the gun, doesn’t react to his father walking off and leaving him to his fate, and doesn’t react to Grayson pulling the hammer back on the pistol or pointing it at his head.  
  
Whatever fight he had, it’s gone now.  
  
And Grayson doesn’t like it.  
  
It’s one thing to kill a man who means to kill you; it’s one thing to kill a man preemptively because you know he’ll try if given the chance; it’s one thing to kill a man because he can and will do harm to others at some point in the future. There are a number of reasons and justifications as to why Grayson might kill a man or excuse another’s killing of one.  
  
The second and third ones are ringing true now, because Alastair has proven himself to be a danger to Grayson and a danger to the populace in general.  
  
But it’s hard to remember that when the here and now has a man Grayson has served with for _centuries_ bruised and bloody and broken on the floor. In spite of it all, Alastair seems to be at peace with what’s about to happen, and somehow that makes it even worse than what it is.  
  
Grayson’s been directing the gun at Alastair’s head, but his arm trembles and his aim falters. Alastair looks at him without emotion. “It’s alright, brother. I understand. I would do the same in your position.”  
  
The gun lowers, almost without Grayson’s intention. “I suppose you would,” He says. “But I…”  
  
_Can’t._  
  
_I can’t._  
  
He can’t do it.  
  
There’s some sort of terrible injustice of it all, that he should serve with a man for centuries only to have him turn on their Order; there’s something sick about the fact that Grayson has now been charged with killing him.  
  
He is _angry_ at Alastair for his betrayal, furious that he’d nearly killed Tesla to keep that secret, and Grayson’s still seething over being tortured and nearly executed as a result of his lies; but in this moment, he can’t bring himself to execute Alastair. It won’t change anything.  
  
_“My kind”. My kind is no more evil than yours._  
  
_There shall come a day when all our burdens will end, brother. Maybe then we shall know true peace._  
  
“Bloody hell.” Grayson holsters his gun and moves forward, holding out a hand. “Come. Come on,” He invites, full of anxiety. “We’re leaving.”  
  
Alastair stares at him. “What?”  
  
Grayson pulls the illicit bottle of Blackwater out from under his collar and holds it out to the younger man. “Here. Drink.”  
  
“What are you _doing?_ ” Alastair’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind, and frankly, that’s a distinct possibility.  
  
Grayson kneels down and looks him in the eye. “I have fought and killed rebels, I have witnessed the damage they’ve wreaked on the population, and yet I gave Lakshmi a chance,” He whispers. “Don’t mistake me, Alastair: I do not excuse what you’ve done. You tried to kill Tesla, and the blood of Hastings’s victims is on your hands as well. Nor am I especially pleased at your attempts to have me killed, or having me imprisoned and tortured.” He twitches a little at the memories that come with that and moves on before they cause him to change his mind. “You say you look to protect your kind, that I understand less of this war than I think I do? Then perhaps I’d like to see you live to prove it, as Lakshmi did.”  
  
Alastair squints at him. “You’ve lost your mind.”  
  
“Go to your people,” Grayson says quietly. “And fight your war, if you’re so convinced you’re fighting the good fight. If you’re truly no evil than anyone else, if all you’re doing is fighting for your right to survive, then we should have no quarrel in the future. But if I hear anymore of Hastings and his Vampires killing women in Whitechapel, or Lycans wreaking havoc and mauling civilians, I _will_ kill the ones responsible- that includes you, if I catch you at it.”  
  
“You’d be smarter to kill me now,” Alastair still looks perplexed.  
  
“Then I suppose I’m not very smart. Drink- I’ll have to help you out the way I came, but the Blackwater will stop you from making them worse when you move.”  
  
After a moment more of staring, Alastair finally took the Blackwater from Grayson and drank.  
  
[---]  
  
The trek out of the catacombs is painstaking.  
  
Grayson pulls off his coat and drapes it over Alastair’s shoulders. They have to step over the bodies of the United India Company agents leftover from Grayson’s earlier assault. Alastair does well for a man recovering from stabs and slashes and a dozen other little injuries, but he stumbles here and there, and just as they’re about to reach the Underground proper he starts shaking and slips. Grayson lowers him to the ground before he can collapse. Alastair looks paler than before, and all does is wheeze; they haven’t spoken since the laboratory, mostly because every spare ounce of energy has been dedicated to escape.  
  
“You really should go,” Alastair finally says, breathless even though he’s still managing that strangely mild, unbothered tone. “They’ll catch you.”  
  
“They’ll come after me anyways, with time,” Grayson remarks. “And seeing as how I’ve already put all of this effort into getting you out, it makes sense to just keep moving.” He waits for a few minutes, letting Alastair rest, and then tugs the other man’s arm. “We need to move, or we’re both dead.”  
  
Alastair nods wearily and then hooks his arm around Grayson’s neck again.  
  
They hobble on.  
  
They reach the Underground, and the air becomes less stagnant. It occurs to Grayson that once they’re at street-level, there’s only one place he can think of dragging Alastair too, and he’s not actually sure if it’s safe or not.  
  
“Did the Order find the safe-house I went to after my escape?” Alastair doesn’t answer for a moment, and Grayson realizes that his eyes are only half-open. The man’s nearly asleep on his feet. Grayson gives him a little shake. “Lucan- do they know about the safe-house?”  
  
Alastair rouses, thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Isi found it.”  
  
Grayson cringes slightly. “Of course she did.”  
  
“I am sorry about that.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.” It really doesn’t, because in this time and place, they don’t exactly have much of a choice: It’s either the safe-house, or escaping London for the short-term and returning later once he and Alastair have parted ways.  
  
There is that dark little temptation to take Alastair up on his offer, to just leave him for the Order or for Hastings to collect- the reminder that Isabeau hates him and likely wants him dead might have something to do with that- but Grayson resists. He’s already gone through the trouble, so he may as well see it through.  
  
In any case, he’s not sure he’d be able to do it anyway. Even with the help of the Blackwater, Alastair looks like he’s on death’s doorstep; and maybe he could countenance killing someone who is powerless to resist, or betray a friend and leave them for dead or ruin, but Grayson, as it is, cannot. It is not simply mercy towards Alastair, but also proving to himself that he is of good character.  
__  
Character is what you are in the dark.  
  
Grayson sighs, and then adjusts his hold on Alastair.  
  
“Brace yourself,” He mutters. “We’re leaving the city. And I expect it will be a rough trip.”  
  
“Mad,” Alastair whispers again, slumping a little more heavily against Grayson. “You’re mad.”  
  
“I don’t deny it.”  
  
They set off into the darkness, hoping that fate might have some mercy of its own for them.  
   
-End

**Author's Note:**

> ...This might become a series.


End file.
